


A Question of Answers

by bloodyromantic



Series: The Heart of a Knave [7]
Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodyromantic/pseuds/bloodyromantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.<br/>~Charles Dickens</p>
</div>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.  
> ~Charles Dickens

_A house full, a hole full,  
Yet you cannot gather a bowl full._

_Answer: Smoke_

 

Ilosovic Stayne peered around the dimly-lit storeroom, but no one was to be seen. Noting the loft at the back of the room, he climbed its slender ladder high enough to look into the depths, and there he saw a familiar pair of boots, along with the dusty tail of a pale skirt, stretched out along the ground and disappearing into shadows.

“Milady!” he called. 

Casiphia backed out of the corner where she had been rummaging and felt one boot connect with something as she did so.

“Oh no! Sweetness! Did I kick you in the head?” 

“You did,” he said. “But not to worry. I'm used to being kicked around. Don't mind me.”

Aghast, Casiphia scrambled to the edge of the loft and cradled Stayne's head against her. “That's exactly why I shouldn't do something like that. I'm the one you should never have to be on guard against.”

“Don't worry, love,” he grinned. “You'll make it up to me later.”

“Oh? You've seen that in the Oraculum, have you?”

“Absolutely. Yes,” he replied. “That's it.”

They sat with their legs dangling over the edge of the loft, a bit of sun illuminating the room through a dusty skylight. With a twinkling eye, Ilosovic picked a bit of cobweb off Casiphia's nose and showed it to her.

“What? Oh. Thank you,” she said absently.

“Nivens told me where to find you,” he told her. “I gather you're looking for clues about your parents again.”

“Given that I can't get any information from them directly, even after the incident returning from their house, yes, that is precisely what I'm doing,” Casiphia said. “I don't why I'm feeling so obsessed about this, but I desperately want to know what possible reason my mother could have for having a gun, and why neither of my parents will tell me anything about it.”

Ilosovic suddenly slid a hand behind her head, pulled her to him, and kissed her, hard. When both had regained their breath, he told her, “You realize none of this makes any difference to me, right? I don't think there is underlying violent insanity in your family, and even if there is, I don't care. If any of your worries are on my account, forget them. And know that I will help you in any way I can.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I trust you not to let anything I find affect how you feel about me. And I could use your help, if only to hold things while I search out what's beneath them.”

“And later I'll be glad to do so. For the time being, I came up here—so to speak—to take you to luncheon in the great hall. Although looking at you now, I imagine you'll either want to change clothes first or make it a private meal.”

Casiphia looked down ruefully at the smudges and dust that now marred her dress. “Private luncheon, please. There's no use in changing into another frock that will end up looking like this one.”

Stayne slid down from the loft and held up his arms to swing Casiphia to the floor below. She squeezed her eyes shut as he did so, unsure whether the little flip her stomach gave was a pleasure or a discomfort.

As they walked down marble corridors, Casiphia's skirts exuding tiny puffs of dust, Ilosovic asked her what luck she'd had thus far.

“Not much,” she sighed. “I've found some old clothes, a few portraits, some books and some highly amusing love letters from my father to my mother, but nothing that tells me why she would have ever had a gun. I've been asking the castle staff about old intrigues, but there doesn't seem to be anything there to explain it.”

“And no one you've talked to will confess knowing anything?”

“Not at all. Nivens stammered so much when I questioned him I couldn't understand what he was saying, and it was probably excuses as to why he couldn't tell me anyway. Mirana looked sad and turned away from me when I asked her, and the kitchen staff must all be too new because they looked at me blankly and shrugged in a completely believable fashion. The head of stables started whistling and walked away from me sideways—sideways!—and the retired housekeeper gave me a very stern look as though I had no business asking about such things.

“At that point I resolved to find out on my own. I had a burning curiosity to begin with, but now I'm feeling decidedly unsettled and anxious, and I'm not going to be feel at peace until I start solving this mystery.”

“Ah, my love,” Ilosovic said, halting and pulling her close. “We will find it. I'm certain of that. And whatever it is, it was in the past, and surely it can't affect you now.”

“It's just—unnerving to find out your parents aren't the people you thought they were,” said Casiphia thoughtfully. “It's like finding your house turned around to face east when you'd gone to bed with it facing west.”

“It's still the same sun coming up, whichever direction you're facing,” Stayne said. 

“True,” Casiphia said after a moment. “Ah, let's go fortify me with sandwiches and tea so I can start back again refreshed.”

“You are a determined one, aren't you?” 

“And you wouldn't have me any other way.”

“'Tis true, I can't argue the fact,” he said, thinking back on the early days of their courtship.


	2. Portraits and Pleasures

_In marble halls as white as milk,_  
Lined with a skin as soft as silk,  
Within a fountain crystal-clear,  
A golden apple doth appear.  
No doors are there to this stronghold,  
Yet thieves break in to steal the gold. 

_Answer: an egg_

 

Feeling almost energetic after her repast, Casiphia returned to her exploration of the castle storage room. Feeling she must have seen everything in the loft, useful or not (mostly not), she turned her attentions to stacks of crates and boxes in a far corner of the room.

Stayne had honestly intended to be useful, but found there wasn't much for him to do but keep his consort company and be nearby in case she found something heavy that he could offer to lift out of the way. So he poked about on the shelves and through stacks of miscellanea, mentally contrasting the jumbled discards of the White Castle with the sumptuous neglected treasures in Iracebeth's palace.

“I've found a section that seems to be all items that belonged to my family,” she announced to Ilosovic after some time. “I recognize some of the clothing, and here's my old rocking horse, and quite a few half-finished embroideries of my mother's.” 

“I wouldn't have thought her the kind to leave unfinished projects lying about,” Ilosovic said.

“To know her now, no, you wouldn't,” Casiphia grinned, and set back to shuffling through her discoveries.

“Ha, look at this,” she said after a bit, handing him a small canvas off a shelf.

Ilosovic took it from her and examined it. “This is you, isn't it? A portrait of a very young Casiphia.”

“That it is,” she said.

“I'd like to have this,” he said.

“You may, as long as you don't do anything ostentatious with it. No hanging it in the sitting room, for instance. Over your desk, possibly, would be acceptable.”

“I don't think you realize how sweet this portrait is, but I bow to your sensibilities. I will hang it somewhere relatively obscure,” Ilosovic said. For the moment he set it to the side, then watched his lady love surreptitiously as she continued to sort through her family's old belongings. 

Finally he crept up behind her, moving her long brown braid to the side to bite at the back of her neck, first softly and then with more vigor. “Someone needs a distraction. You've been hard at work for too long. It's time for something restorative.”

“I need a distraction? Are you sure someone isn't bored and looking for something to do?”

“Or maybe someone has been looking at you and is now too distracted himself to think of anything but this,” he said in a rough voice, the timbre of which sent a tingle through her body. She turned around and drew him to her to share a long kiss, winding her hands through his long hair.

“So many buttons,” Casiphia murmured as she undid Stayne's silky black shirt. “And more still, I see,” she added as she moved on to his breeches. In the meantime he was unbuttoning her dress all the way down the back and sliding it off her shoulders to pool on the floor, leaving her standing there in her shift, stockings and boots. Then his hands were reaching up her shift, sweeping up her skin until they arrived at her breasts, where he stroked each nipple firmly with a thumb.

“We do like our afternoons in storerooms, don't we?” he murmured

“So...convenient,” she replied, a catch in her breath.

Seeing Casiphia looking at the cold marble floor with hesitation, Ilosovic quickly unfurled an old carpet he'd seen leaning against one wall. Then he scooped her up in his arms and set her gently down upon it, pulling her shift over her head and tossing it to the floor, then quickly discarding his shirt and trousers and joining her.

Lowering himself on top of her and propping himself up on his elbows, Ilosovic shook his head so waves of his dark hair tickled her shoulders. Casiphia giggled and threw her arms around her lover.

“Oh, you feel good,” she said, running her hands over his back.

“I do, do I?” he said, choosing that moment to enter her and causing her to throw her head back in delight.

Losing herself in the sensation of him inside her, Casiphia let all thoughts of responsibilities and mysteries fall away for the moment, and focused on the union between her and Ilosovic. She reached her climax just before he did, and the two of them held tightly to each other for some moments afterwards. 

Afterwards Casiphia nestled into the hollow of Ilosovic's shoulder and allowed herself to doze off, feeling safe and loved in his embrace. He dozed for a while too, then came awake with a start.

“Back to work,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his clothes.

“No...” Casiphia refused to open her eyes.

“Up you go,” Ilosovic said, pulling her to a sitting position.

“Cruel man.” 

“No, just a practical one. You want to solve mysteries and find artifacts. The sun will be going down soon, and I don't think the lights in here are bright enough to do much work by.”

“True, I suppose. But you need something to do. I can provide you with an alchemy text; I found a stack of them in that corner.”

“I suppose I might learn something,” he shrugged. 

“Or a military history?”

“Now that might be something I'd like to see,” Stayne said, suddenly interested. “I wonder if one of them might be mine, from my early days at this castle. But why are they here? Do they not teach military history now?”

“They do,” Casiphia said gently, “but there have been some updates made over the past ten years.”

“Oh,” Stayne said, looked shamefaced, but then brightening. “Do you think I am mentioned in the updates?”

“I imagine that you are,” Casiphia said dryly. “But perhaps not in a manner that either one of us would appreciate.”

“Mm,” Stayne said, thoughtful. “Still, I would like to see the old books.”

“Over there.” Casiphia pointed to the dusty stack. “And I will continue with my excavation.”


	3. Clues and Collusion

_I used to live above the ground_  
Midst Sun and Wind and Rain  
But no-one came to talk to me  
For comfort in my Pain  
So then I lay beneath the ground  
In darkness was my rest  
Till crushed beneath an Iron Hand  
I from the Earth was wrest  
But not for long was daylight mine  
In fire I met my Doom  
To keep the wheels in Motion  
And Light up every Room.  
But who am I? 

_Answer: Coal_

Ilosovic knelt by the stack of textbooks and began looking through them, while Casiphia continued moving objects out of her way. “Now I know what Nivens does with his old waistcoats. Here's an entire chest of them. And look how small some of them are!” She laughed.

“What do you know, it is here,” Ilosovic said. “My military history book from long ago.”

“Let me see.” Casiphia peered over his shoulder. “Did you draw that Spades coat of arms? It's quite good.”

“Yes,I did indeed,” he said. “It really is a bit of ancient history, isn't it?”

“I think this is the only thing I've seen from your youth,” Casiphia said.

“I think it's the only thing I have from my youth,” Ilosovic said. “Aside from the raven you're wearing.”

Casiphia's hand went to the pendant at her throat. “I'm sorry, my love.”

“It's not so bad,” he told her. “Not everyone needs to save everything associated with their entire life.”

Looking at the clutter strewn about the storeroom, she had to admit he had a point.

“This is just personal effects of castle denizens and their families,” she said in a faint attempt to defend her fellow courtiers and castle staff. “We do have archives of official records that are much better kept than this.”

“I suppose this system might have its practical points,” Stayne conceded, “although a modicum of organization might not be amiss.”

“And here is a perfect example!” Casiphia exclaimed suddenly, the state of the storeroom forgotten in her excitement. “A steamer trunk with a plate on the front that reads 'Rhoswen.' This looks most promising.”

She dragged the trunk out into the light, such as it was, and knelt on the ground beside it, heedless of her clothing. “Oh no, it's locked. But the lock is quite rusty...”

“Stand back,” Stayne said. He drew his ever-present sword and struck the lock firmly, breaking it in two and releasing the catch on the trunk.

“Thank you, dear. Truly, I never tire of that.” Casiphia smiled, and set to rummaging through the contents.

“Well, here we have a stained pair of gloves, a blue dress, and a crumpled gray tailcoat,” she said, setting them aside.

“Now this might be something,” she said hopefully, drawing a dusty old reticule out of the trunk and unsnapping the clasp. “A comb, a handkerchief, and oh! A pair of ticket stubs and a little vial with some dried liquid at the bottom.”

Stayne sat down next to her and they inspected the tickets. “The Queen of Spades, or The Gambler's Secret” at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane,” he read. “Appropriate choice of play.”

“Before I was born,” she noted. “So! Harald and Anne had at least one adventure outside of Underland. Which is where her gun is from.”

“The vial probably contained a travelling potion,” Ilosovic said, holding it up to the light and examining the brown crystallized substance it contained.

Casiphia looked again at her finds. “The chain on the reticule is broken. Might this be significant?”

Ilosovic examined the chain. “It does appear to have been pulled apart by force—you can see how the links are stretched.”

“What is that piece of paper sticking out of the top?” Reading it quickly, she brandished it with triumph. “Receipt from a gun shop!”

“From the day after the play,” Ilosovic said, reading over her shoulder. “So we know they were in London at least overnight.”

“A gun receipt and a broken reticule strap—that tells a story right there, does it not?”

“But not quite enough of one for you, I'm guessing,” he said.

“I know what to do next,” Casiphia declared, standing up and brushing dust off her skirt briskly. “I am inviting my mother to tea, and confronting her with the evidence.”

“Underhanded,” Ilosovic observed. “Are you sure I haven't been a bad influence on you?”

“Quite certain,” Casiphia chuckled, bending to put her hands on his shoulders. “And you must be at this tea too. After all, this story affects you now as much as it does me.”

“If that is what you wish, then there I shall be. If you don't think it will make your mother too uncomfortable to reveal secrets in the presence of someone she hardly knows, whose reputation could be cleaner.”

“No, quite the opposite, I think,” Casiphia said thoughtfully. “She might appreciate the presence of a somewhat objective third party. Besides, I want you there, and I know she will understand that.”

“And you think this will work?”

“Yes. I don't know. But I haven't any other ideas.”

“It's worth a try, then,” Ilosovic said. “Send a messenger to her as soon as you can.”

Casiphia knelt back down and replaced the items they had found in the reticule, then tucked it under her arm. “What do you want to do with that book?”

“I'm not sure. It doesn't bring back bad memories, but it does remind of the times before...everything changed, for all of us.”

“Hand it here. I'll put it in the trunk with my family memorabilia. It seems appropriate to me. How's that?”

Ilosovic nodded and smiled. “A good choice. Thank you.”

Casiphia carefully laid the book in the trunk, led the lid fall with a thud, and stood up. “I'm letting all this bother me too much, aren't I?” 

“Given that you recently killed two attackers when you had never held a gun before, and the gun turns out to have played some part in your family history—I think it's understandable,” Ilosovic said. “But if you'd like a distraction—a different sort than we had earlier, even—I'm sure it's not too soon to dress for dinner. I hear Tarrant will be making an appearance; we can entertain you with our attempts at civility. And maybe a game of cards and some wine afterwards would not be amiss.”

Casiphia stood on tiptoe and kissed Ilosovic on each cheek, the scarred and the unmarked, and finally on the lips, to which he responded ardently. Then she put her arms about his waist and he held her tightly.

“That helps most of all,” she said.


	4. Mystery and Menace

_Yellow as butter is my nodding head,_  
 _With body as green as the grass._  
 _I arise in the spring from my winter bed,_  
 _And at Easter they come and they cut off my head,_  
 _To display it supported by glass._

_Answer: A daffodil_

 

* * *

The day Anne Rhoswen rode to Marmoreal for tea was rainy, the first wet day of a dry, warm summer. Tea was laid out in one of the castle's audience rooms, biscuits and cups on a delicate table surrounded by equally delicate, ornate chairs, as raindrops pattered softly against the lace-curtained windows. 

Casiphia met her mother at the front entrance of the castle and escorted her down several marble hallways to the audience room, where Ilosovic stood at the door to greet them. Both Casiphia and her mother had their brown hair piled high atop their heads, and Ilosovic hid a smile at how much alike the two appeared.

The two women took their seats at the table, and Stayne closed the door to the room and joined them.

“Ilosovic,” Anne said, nodding to him. “Before we have tea, Casiphia's father sends you a message: If you are going to continue getting our daughter in trouble, then he insists you must also continue watching out for her.”

“I would do no less, madam,” Stayne replied. “But you might let him know that his daughter is quite an opponent in her own right, and becoming more so by the day.”

“I'm sure that will set his mind at ease,” Anne said, a bit uncertainly. Then she took Ilosovic's hands in hers. “We were wondering if you might have some, er, big announcement for us,” she said, eyes twinkling.

“No, no announcements at all,” Casiphia said, glancing over at her consort. “Ilosovic and I are quite happy with things the way they are.” Ilosovic took her hand and kissed it, and Anne smiled. 

“Then that is all that counts,” she said.

“Mum, I'm afraid we invited you here because there are some questions I have that I feel only you can answer.” Casiphia pulled up her skirt—at which Anne raised an eyebrow—revealing the white leather holster she wore buckled around her pale stocking. Drawing Henrietta the Derringer, she set the pistol on the table in front of Anne and looked directly into her mother's eyes. “I would like to know more about your ownership of this gun.”

Anne turned a bit pale, but said, “I cannot say this comes as a surprise.”

Casiphia proceeded to describe the items she and Stayne had found in the castle storeroom, along with the theory of events they had pieced together. Anne nodded at each detail, then told the two, “By and large, you have the substance of it. You're lacking in a few particulars, and I suppose I owe you those, after the position your father and I put you in.” 

Looking mostly at Casiphia, but occasionally directing her gaze to Stayne, Anne began her tale.

* * * 

“Rabbit hole has never been my preferred mode of travel, as you well know,” I told your father, taking his hand and allowing him to help me up the incline.

Harald, looking dapper in his gray tailcoat and top hat and magnificently moustached, couldn't refrain from reminding me why we had chosen that method of wayfaring. “You know we only have enough potion to travel one direction, and there weren't enough of the less-common ingredients to make more, and there was no guarantee that we'd be able to find a rabbit hole to travel back down once we were in London.”

“Yes, dear, I know,” I said. “I knew all that the last time you mentioned those facts, and they're still fresh in my mind.”

Trying hard to ignore the vertigo I was still feeling from falling upwards, I shook crumbs of earth off my deep blue skirts and took your father's arm, and together we set off to find Drury Lane and the Theatre Royal, the April air about them smoky and cool, so unlike the air of Underland this time of year.

The play was most enjoyable, as was the walk from the theater in the misty night air. At least until a young man raced towards us, snatching at my reticule and tugging it away from me. I held on as best I could, given that I had been taken completely by surprise, but he managed to yank it free and then bolted down a narrow alley.

Harald raced after him, but gave up the chase when he saw the young man hail a woman of suspicious mien and disappear into a most disreputable-looking tavern.

I looked at Harald in dismay. “How are we to get home? Shall we start looking for rabbit holes now?” 

“To start with,” he replied. “If we can locate one, we will not have to take further measures.”

“Such as what?” I said, unable to disguise an expression of suspicion.

“Not to worry before the time comes to do so,” Harald said.

After a hour or so of wearily trudging the streets and parks of London in inappropriate shoes, even I was willing to give up the search for a rabbit hole that would take my husband and me back to Underland. It was time for a new plan of action.

“First, we need a place to sleep for the night,” Harald said, much to my relief. By sheer good fortune, he had enough London money on his person to purchase us a night's rest in a fairly respectable tavern (although the carousing patrons deep into their cups caused me to cringe a bit), and we were able to stop our hunt for a while and get some restorative rest.


	5. Predicaments and Plans

_What has many faces but no mouths_   
_Is sharper than a sword_   
_And looks splendid on any hand?_

_Answer: Diamond_  


Anne drained her tea cup and set it down. “Do you want to know more?”

“Mum, of course I do,” Casiphia said. “I'm sorry, but you have made me no less curious about any of this.”

With a sigh, Anne poured herself another cup of tea, looking into it as though wishing it contained a good-sized slug of something stronger. Observing this, Stayne crossed the room to a sideboard, from which he extracted a bottle of brandy. He poured a large dollop of this into her tea, and she resumed her tale.

****

* * *

I was startled to find myself alone in a strange bed, in a strange city, where the quality of light entering the room was entirely unfamiliar. As events of the night before drifted back into my consciousness, I found myself wondering with increasing distress where your father had gone.

Luckily it wasn't long before he returned to the room, bearing a basket of hot rolls and a curious small valise. I, now dressed again in my gown from the night before and wondering how conspicuous this would make me during daylight hours, helped myself to a roll but insisted Harald reveal the contents the case before I would eat.

“Well, my dear,” he said, unsnapping the clasp, “this is how we are going to get home.”

I stared at the pearl-handled derringer nestled in the case and turned a bewildered face to him. “What, pray tell, is that?”

“This, my dear, is your pistol,” he said, raising a hand to forestall the protest he could see was about to pour forth. “After giving this some thought, I realized that you have a far better chance of getting close to the man who stole your reticule than I. With luck, you won't even be required to shoot him.”

My mouth dropped open, but I couldn't deny the logic of what Harald was saying. Some of it, at any rate.

“I've never fired a gun; I've never even seen one outside of books till now,” I protested faintly.

“I had the purveyor of the weapon give me full directions on how to use and care for it,” Harald said. “And I'm sure we can find a train yard or foundry or other noisy shop where you can practice with it.”

I dropped my head into one hand. A simple trip aboveground for a night at the theater was never supposed to have turned out like this. But I had no better ideas than this one of Harald's, and he seemed to have thought of all the contingencies. Most of all, my desire to get home to the castle and my comfortable routine, away from this chaotic, dirty, confusing city, was becoming strong enough that I might have agreed to more unsavory ideas than this.

Harald was right; it wasn't difficult to find a foundry where we could steal into the yard at the back for me to practice my aim, and the sounds of hammering and pounding made the noise of firing almost unnoticeable. The fact that the neighborhood was a bit rough might have helped to disguise the gunshots as well, I thought with some unease.

The day grew on, with only a short break for the small amount of food we still had coins to buy, and soon twilight was upon us. “What now?” I asked Harald.

“Remember the tavern I saw the thief enter last night? We are going there. And you are going to go inside and find that young man.”

“And he will undoubtedly think I am hoping to sell myself to him,” I said with distaste.

“If needs be,” Harald shrugged. “You would like to return home tonight, am I right?”

I grimaced, but let him continue. 

“Persuade him to take you up to his room, by whichever means you choose, and there locate your reticule, which I will venture a guess will still be among his belongings. I doubt he has had time to do much more than sleep off his drunkenness and then get a start on regaining that state. Draw the gun, take what is yours, and hurry back to me. I will be downstairs should anything go wrong.”

“You realize how very many things possibly could go wrong with this scheme, am I mistaken?” I said, aghast.

“Have you a better plan?” Harald asked her, and I had to admit that, at least for the moment, I did not.

So off we went, making our footsore way through the cobbled streets of London, heading towards a tavern undoubtedly of ill-repute, so that I could be the heroine of the day by embarrassing myself and using a very recently-learned skill indeed to get the two of us home to the safety and comfort of Underland.


	6. Action and Aftermath

_I am a wonderful help to women_  
The hope of something good to come  
I harm only my slayer  
I grow very tall, erect in a bed  
I am shaggy down below  
The lovely girl grabs my body, rubs my red skin  
Holds me hard, claims my head.  
That girl will feel our meeting!  
I bring tears to her eyes!  
What am I? 

_Answer: An onion_

 

Anne began looking uncomfortable as she told this part of her tale. Stayne, having honed his observational skills to a fine edge during his tenure with Iracebeth, stood up and went over to the window to give the women some privacy. He could still hear, of course, even when Anne lowered her voice, but watching the rain streak down the window allowed him to seem as though his attention were elsewhere.

****

* * *

Harald and I hid around the corner of the tavern while I pulled down part of my hair so as to look more disreputable, and tucked in the front of my dress to, er, expose myself a bit more. Then I went up to the young man at the bar and struck up a conversation. Or flirtation, or something of the sort. He turned to the barman to procure me an ale, and I pulled out the gun and pressed it into his ribs.

He was disbelieving at first, but then seemed to realize who I was and that I was perfectly serious about getting my stolen belongings back. And with the gun at his back, trying to maneuver my skirts to hide what I was about, I directed him up the stairs to his quarters. He gave me back my reticule, and I looked to see what he had left me. The bit of money I had had was gone, but the vial of traveling potion was still there, along with my other possessions. Tucking it under my arm, I began to back out of the room, keeping the gun pointed at him. It was then that he lunged at me, and then that I pulled the trigger.

I don't have to tell you what a shock is to feel a gun fire in your hand for the first time, and hear the sound of the report, and know that you have deliberately tried to harm a fellow creature. And I know you understand that there isn't time at that moment to contemplate any of this. You must keep your wits about you and do what's required as quickly as you possibly can. 

So, not waiting to see if I had killed or merely injured the thief, I bolted down the stairs, not knowing how seriously the staff or patrons of the bar would take the sound of a gunshot and not caring to linger to find out.

I flew out of the tavern, grabbed hold of your father's arm, and we ran as fast as we were able down filthy alleys, across busy streets, and through deserted squares. It didn't matter where we ended up, as we had the traveling potion, and soon we would be home. Taking refuge at last in the mouth of a narrow alley far away from the tavern, I uncorked the potion and took a swallow, then passed the bottle to Harald. I figured I deserved to get home first, after all.

****

* * *

Casiphia looked rattled. “Of course I never knew you had had such an, er, adventure. But I'm especially dismayed that Papa goaded you into it.”

“His logic made sense,” Anne sighed, “and his plan did work. But don't think that he got off entirely easily.”

Casiphia raised her eyebrows.

"For one thing, he wanted to name you Pegasus--I guess he couldn't think of anything better that was white--but I told him absolutely not."

At his station at the window, Ilosovic surrendered all pretense that he wasn't listening and gave out a bark of laughter as Casiphia uttered a small shriek. “I'm glad that you had some leverage against him, then!”

“And you don't think it was his idea to retire in the country, do you?” Anne's eyes twinkled. 

“He's adjusted to it well, from what I can tell,” Casiphia said. 

“He has. And part of the reason this marriage works is that sometimes one of us can tell what is best for the other, when the other cannot. Not that he has always been the easiest man to live with, but we made our peace with each other's tendencies long ago.”

Ilosovic returned to his seat at the table and poured himself a fresh cup of tea, looking bemused.

Casiphia shook her head, knocking loose a tendril of hair in the process. “I'm going to have quite a bit to think about, I can tell. Thank you for filling in the missing information, Mum. I know now that it wasn't easy for you to tell me this, and I understand why.

“I do envy you a bit, though, having adventures aboveground,” she added. “I would love to make an excursion like that with Ilosovic, but obviously we would be a bit more conspicuous than you and Papa if we tried.”

“I would think you'd had enough adventures of your own as it is,” Anne said.

“You could look at it that way,” Casiphia admitted.

Anne drained the last drops of her brandied tea, then told her daughter, “This has exhausted me. If you can stand to see me leave, I'm going to ride home now and get some rest.”

“Be careful,” her daughter cautioned. “Ride safely and don't let anyone take you unawares.”

“Not to worry,” Anne said. “Mirana assigned a guard to ride with me today. Believe me, I've learned not to take unwarranted chances.”

Casiphia bid her mother fairfarren, then turned to see Ilosovic with his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. As soon as she realized he was laughing, she flew across the room and kicked a leg of his chair, chipping the gilding. He rolled off the chair and fell to the floor with a thud, still laughing. “Ah,” he gasped, bending his knees and covering his face with one hand. She threw a half-eaten biscuit at him and it bounced off his chest, which only made him laugh all the harder.

“You are a horrible man!” 

“I am, I know,” he said, holding out a hand to her. 

“Hmph,” she sniffed, but grudgingly took it, and he pulled her down onto the floor beside him.  
“You have to understand, secrets and scandals at Saluzen Grum were utterly banal compared to this. Nothing particularly amusing or entertaining or truly scandalous ever seemed to happen. Yet every time I turn around at Marmoreal, there's something unexpected happening or being discovered. I never would have expected that. Or the way you all throw things.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” Casiphia said. “But still. Hmph.”

Ilosovic poked her in the ribs until she reluctantly laughed. “Pegasus,” he reminded her, and they sputtered into gales of laughter. 

Finally the hilarity subsided. Then Ilosovic remarked, “You know, the ceiling in here is really rather lovely,” and the absurdity of the moment provoked their merriment yet again.

It was at this moment a rabbit parlour maid chose to enter the room with a tray to take away the used china, but she backed away rapidly once she saw the two lying prone on the ground laughing, and scampered down the hall in alarm.

“I suppose I see your point about the White Castle,” Casiphia told Stayne. “I'm glad that you don't find us tedious.”

“Not at all,” he said, looking at her intently, suddenly serious. “Not at all.”


End file.
